


Zero Tolerance

by ApicalMeristematic



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: Bullying, F/F, One Shot, Set when they were students at Luna Nova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApicalMeristematic/pseuds/ApicalMeristematic
Summary: Some poor sod learns the hard way why kicking around Chariot Du Nord in the presence of Croix Meridies is a terrible, terrible idea.





	Zero Tolerance

Chariot smiles nervously.

She likes to believe that she’s pretty good with people. She’s made a lot of friends at Luna Nova. She tries her best to be cheerful and optimistic without grinding on anyone’s nerves. When she sees someone in trouble, she does her best to help, even if her poor abilities with magic might sometimes prove to be more of a hindrance than desperately needed aid. Er, good intentions after all, right?

Yet here she is, hands folded submissively behind her back, grinning hesitantly at three much taller figures as they leered over her with varying degrees of unpleasantness clearly evident on their faces. The sun is behind them and her own back is pressed rather uncomfortably against a wall, and the shadows on their facial features make them all the more intimidating.

“You’re Chariot du Nord, aren’t you?”

The witch in question meekly nods and laughs uncomfortably, hoping to lighten the tension.

“A-Aha, yeah. C-Can I help you?”

Who are these three again? Chariot isn’t quite sure. She’s seen them in the halls before maybe, but they look wholly unfamiliar. They seem older than her. And taller. Definitely taller. This was probably just some kind of misunderstanding, right? She had no idea who these people were. 

The one in the center smiles. It’s not a very comforting smile in the least. Nothing like Chariot’s own blinding displays of joy, or even the small, often exasperated ones she can manage to coax out of Croix. Chariot might have carried with her a cheer about equivalently bright to a small sun, but even she can see that nothing good could come out of a smile like _that_.

“Look girls. I think we’ve found our little entertainer.”

There’s a sneer in those words that makes Chariot’s heart sink rapidly to her stomach. Her pulse quickens. She doesn’t want to be here any longer with this girl who looks at her with such malice in her icy blue eyes. 

“U-Uh… sorry, I have somewhere I have to be…” she stammers, making a move to step away. That’s not a lie even. Her next class was with Professor Finneran, who would definitely be the opposite of pleased if she failed to be punctual, and given her tendencies to cause or be on the receiving end of disaster, it was always best to have a head start.

Her move to escape is cut off pointedly by the girl to her left. 

“What’s the rush, Du Nord? We just wanna talk.” 

That was _definitely_ not the tone of good intentions. It had been made clear to her that she was not allowed to make herself scarce. With a nervous swallow, she bounced on her toes and tried to respond casually.

“A-Ah, haha, sure, why not? Uh, what would you like to talk about?” The tremble in her voice isn't as subtle as she'd have wished. It seems to embolden the three girls standing menacingly before her.

The middle one (the leader, probably? She looks like the leader) steps forward, until she’s uncomfortably close to Chariot’s face. Her features are quite attractive, with the sharp blue eyes and silky blonde hair that cuts off near her shoulders, and her appearance seems quite well-maintained. Inexplicably, Chariot thinks to herself that she much prefers Croix with her unashamed irreverence of any and all beauty standards. Croix is kind, and that’s the part that really matters.

“We heard something awfully cute the other day.” The girl speaks. She’s a good couple inches taller than Chariot, allowing her to effortlessly tower over her junior. “Found some of our underclassmen talking about a girl who wanted to use magic for… entertainment.”

There’s a slight hint of disgust at the end of her sentence. The two flanking girls don’t even bother to hide the scorn on their faces. Under other circumstances Chariot might have felt the urge to defend herself, but given her current predicament, she opts to keep her mouth shut.

“Well? Isn’t that you? Or will you tell me we found the wrong person?”

The girl stared at her coldly now, clearly expecting an answer. Chariot pales and tries to think of how to respond.

“I… u-uh… hah, yeah, that’s me? Is something wrong?” 

She doesn’t see the point of hiding the truth, it’s not like they would believe her at this point. And it certainly wouldn’t save her from any future encounters.

“‘Is something wrong?’ she asks.” The girl on the right snickers, speaking for the first time. She’s even taller than the center girl, with her long brown hair pulled into two pigtails. 

“You really are a dunce.” The left one joins in, grinning wickedly. Her hair is short, curled, and auburn, and she has very cruel emerald eyes. Not anything like Croix’s. Croix would never act so horribly towards her.

“Girls,” The middle one states, with a tone of authority to her voice. She doesn’t look any kinder than her teammates, but seems more intent on maintaining some sort of… dignity, maybe? The other two quiet down in response, but the smirks don’t leave their faces.

“So then, Du Nord? Tell us then, why you’ve decided to use our ancient and noble craft as a means of performing cheap party tricks?” 

The centre girl is smiling very icily now. Despite her own crippling fear, Chariot cannot help but feel slighted by the condescending statement. That was totally not it at all! She wasn’t trying to cheapen magic, she just, wanted everyone to be able to see how wonderful it was! That was the opposite of what this girl was accusing her of!

“I-I don’t understand what you mean. I just want to use magic in a way that'll make people happy. I don’t see why you find that wrong.” Chariot’s voice strengthens as she speaks, conviction temporarily overriding her apprehension. It feels wrong to simply stay quiet and let someone else just belittle her beliefs, when they didn’t seem to know or understand her at all. 

The one with the pigtails scoffs as she turns up her nose, as if faced with something particularly disdainful. The leader however narrows her eyes, until they’re mere slivers of icy blue.

“Is that so?” Her voice becomes low. Almost dangerous.

Chariot gulps and feels her courage leave her. But she manages to stand her ground and stare her back determinedly.

“Yes. It is.”

There’s a pause. Chariot for the first time notices that there are other passing students who have paused briefly to gawk, only to be scared off by one or both of the girls that flank her when they leer threateningly. She finds it a little disheartening that no one looks like they intend to help her out.

Then, the middle girl smiles. And reaches for her wand. Chariot’s apprehension melts into full on dread.

There was no way. They were still in the halls of Luna Nova, for heaven’s sake! There was no way this girl could just straight up assault her, right!?

“Well then, Du Nord,” she smirks coldly. “If you’re so set on becoming a performer, why not provide us with a bit of entertainment?”

Chariot blinks in wild panic. What, what the heck was that supposed to mean-

_“Metamorphie Faciesse!”_

There’s a puff of smoke that blinds her. For a moment Chariot freaks out, terrified that she might have been transformed into a frog or a spider or something, but it still feels like she has all her limbs. Maybe even an extra one? And she’s still standing on two legs without trouble. But after she air clears, as she stands staring in bewildered disbelief, a cruel bark of laughter cuts into her ears.

Ears.

Wait. 

That’s right, that’s what felt weird. Numbly, she reaches up to confirm, all while their audible mockery pierces deeper and deeper into her chest.

“Well, you would have made an ass of yourself sooner or later anyway. We thought we might as well speed it along.” It’s the one with auburn hair that speaks now, her words interspersed by her snickering. 

Her newly obtained donkey ears wilt in response to the jeer. And, without looking, Chariot can feel the drooping of a tail that protrudes from her backside.

Suddenly, she felt very small. 

Tears begin to gather at the corner of her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, in part because no words come to mind, but mainly because she fears that she might not be able to repress the sob in her throat if she did.

“Aww, Bella, I think you’re making her cry.”

“Good riddance, we’ve barely even done anything. What an oversensitive lout. And you wanted to be a performer?!”

Chariot clutches at the hem of her skirt, feeling too afraid to look at anything but the ground. She remembers this spell, for it was one of the few she had been able to perform instantly and without trouble just after learning it. She could probably easily undo it if she just reached for her wand, but her hands feel as they were frozen. Liked they’d been paralyzed by the laughter. 

Her knuckles whiten with how tightly she clutches the fabric. No one has ever ridiculed her like this before. Not even Finneran’s daily bouts of scolding have made her feel this… pathetic and worthless. 

This isn’t the first time she’s doubted herself. She could never believe that giving others a reason to smile was a _bad_ thing, of course, but this wasn’t the first time others had expressed such… disapproval of her most deeply held beliefs. Still, until now, no one had actively called her out on it to mock her to her face.

It’s crushes her. The idea of ever having to face more people who’d treat her the same way for the same reasons makes her, for the first time, seriously consider if it would all be worth it.

But before Chariot can get very far on that gloomy train of thought, a voice roars from down the hallway.

_“Metamorphie Faciesse!”_

Chariot gasps as she feels her body revert to normal. Her heart leaps at the familiar voice, and her head shoots up in excitement. She can’t even bother to hide her obvious relief, because she knows that she has nothing to fear now.

The girls who had towered over her so threateningly suddenly look as they should. Regular students, like any other. They redirect their attentions as the last of their jeers fade away. 

When they see who has interrupted them, their eyes widen. The two lackeys immediately look nervous. Their leader narrows her eyes in disdain in an effort to disguise her own wariness.

“…Meridies.”

Luna Nova’s star pupil stands firmly before them, wand still poised furiously in the air. There’s a thick, worn-looking book in her other arm, as she was often seen carrying. Her mouth is fixed with a thin-lipped scowl. For the most part, her expression is set to her usual serious frown, but behind the glare of her glasses, her sharp eyes are burning fiercely.

“Isabella.” Croix responds, shortly. “I would have thought you’d known better than to use magic against another student. On one of your juniors no less.”

It feels to Chariot as though her heart is soaring from her chest. She wants nothing more than to run to her dear friend, but Isabella and her teammates are still positioned around her and she’s not quite bold enough to push past them. For now, she keeps herself content with the knowledge that Croix is here to defend her.

For a heart pounding moment, Chariot fears that her tormentor would turn on her best friend in retaliation, but instead, Isabella retracts her wand with a scowl and returns it to her waistband.

“We weren’t doing much. It was just a bit of harmless teasing.” 

Chariot wants to retort that it was anything but harmless, but the glare that Isabella sends her way chokes the thought right out of her. The older girl turns away and stalks down the hall in a noticeably dark mood. Her teammates follow suit, but not before casting a withering glance over their shoulders at the Luna Nova prodigy. The girl remains fixed to her spot with an unmoving expression of stoic fury.

When they’re out of sight, Chariot releases a held breath that had been trapped in her lungs. With an irritated sigh, Croix places away her own wand before turning her attentions to the underclassman she’d just saved.

“Chariot, are you al-”

She doesn’t finish her sentence before Chariot almost bowls her over with a tackle hug, bodily throwing her arms around her neck as she leapt into her. Croix teeters in place as she struggles to remain upright, but manages to shakily return the bearhug that her best friend gives her.

“Croix! I’m so glad you… you….”

All of Chariot’s exuberance quickly stifles under the weighted memory of her recent experience, and her words start catching in her throat. The tears she’d restrained before now refused to be held back for a second more. No longer caring if anyone was around to see, she buries her face into Croix’s shoulder and quietly releases a few pent up sobs.

“C-Chariot? O-oh, you’re… you’re crying? Oh my god, it’s okay, everything’s fine now-”

Despite everything, Chariot can’t help but giggle softly at how flustered Croix sounds as she tries to say something comforting, and finds a warm sense of security in the arms being wrapped tentatively around her. The school genius she might be, but Chariot knows better than anyone the awkwardness her friend faced in social exchanges. Especially anything as… intimate as this.

She takes advantage of the moment to remain snuggled into Croix’s warm shoulder, face pressed into her messy purple hair and relishing the comforting sensation of safety. It’s not often she dares do so, partially because of her friend’s own reluctance to maintain extended physical contact, but also because lately she finds that it makes her heart jump in funny ways. It’s not, however, an unpleasant sensation in the slightest, and she takes her time just a little bit more before she parts from her.

There’s a rather cute dusting of pink on Croix’s face as she coughs into her hand, an obvious attempt to recover her usual serious persona. It’s adorable enough that Chariot briefly forgets her entire ordeal to beam at her friend, heart fluttering ever so lightly. A handkerchief is held out to her, which she accepts gladly.

“A-Anyways, as I was asking before you saw it fit to tackle me, are you alright?” Croix gives her a concerned glance over, turning her around to ensure she’d ridden her completely of the metamorphosis spell. Chariot has no such lack of confidence in her friend’s abilities. There’s no way the prodigy could ever be less than flawless with her spellcasting.

“Y-Yes Croix, I’m fine.”

“They didn’t do anything else to you, did they?”

Chariot shakes her head as she dries her tears with the handkerchief before returning it to its owner. She’s a little awed by how much Croix’s obvious concern lifts her spirits, after how she had felt so terribly crushed from the mean comments Isabella’s team unloaded onto her. She has never seen the older girl act this way towards anyone else. It makes her feel… special.

Croix sighs in relief and straightens herself up. She looks a little bit embarrassed, likely wondering if she’d overreacted and if that had looked strange at all. Frankly, Chariot wouldn’t mind in the slightest if she saw her behave like this more often.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have intervened sooner, but I only suspected something might have been off when a couple of people came from this way whispering about you. What were they bothering you about?” There’s a fretful quality to Croix’s voice, and it’s so uncharacteristic of her that Chariot blinks dazedly for a few seconds before she remembers she ought to respond.

“Oh! Uh, right that. Um… Well…” 

Her voice trails off, and she feels her heart sinking. She wishes she didn't have to dredge up the memory of the unpleasant event, much preferring to continue admiring how wonderful Croix was. Reluctantly, she admits everything that her sneering upperclassmen had said to her. Croix’s frown deepens throughout her recount, and by the end, there’s a scowl of undisguised disgust on her face.

“Huh, so that was it.” she mutters, looking very displeased. “Well, I suppose if it was anyone that would stoop to such shallow nonsense, it would be those three.”

“Do you know them?” Chariot asks curiously. 

“A bit?” Croix responds, looking as if she wished she didn’t at all. “They’re in a couple of my classes. Just so you know, Isabella’s from the House of Braybrooke. They have some considerable status among the magic nobility, so, if you’re wondering why she’s being so asinine about ‘magical traditions’, that’s probably your answer. I’d hardly be so proud of myself if I were her. She’s doing rather pitifully in Advanced Conjuration.”

Chariot blinked as she took in the information, marveling at how much Croix knew about someone she didn’t seem familiar at all with. “And her friends?”

“Alice Blackborne and Felicia Hastings. Neither of them come from families quite as prestigious as Braybrooke, so that’s probably why they’re always following her around. Just trying to get by on her coattails. Unsurprising, for folk of their ilk.” 

“Wow Croix,” Chariot breathed, in slight disbelief. “You really do know a lot. This doesn’t even have to do with your studies.” 

To this, her friend merely shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, but it was evident how pleased she was to bask in the admiration of her wide-eyed underclassman. 

“It helps to have an idea of what the people around you are like. Good to know who to stay away from.”

Croix sheds the smug grin and now looks at her seriously.

“Listen Chariot, don’t let what they said get to you. Whatever it is you have your sights on, its already leagues above what they could ever dream of accomplishing. If you’re really serious about what you want, people just as small-minded and obsessed with tradition will try to bring you down. But you can’t stop believing in yourself. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Behind her square glasses, Croix’s eyes are firm but gentle. Every word she speaks lifts Chariot’s heart a little higher, and it’s as though her old, familiar passion is bursting back into flame. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself from smiling if she tried. 

“You really think that?” she asks, quietly. Her voice shakes, thick with tears and gratitude.

“Of course. Don’t you remember what I just told you a few weeks back?”

Chariot laughs, her vision blurry as she closes her eyes. She feels lighter than air.

“‘A believing heart is magic’, right?”

Croix grins and ruffles her hair. Chariot protests weakly and tries to swat it away amidst her giggles. She doesn’t actually want her to stop. It’s so very comforting.

“That’s right, you dolt. See, you can remember things if you set your mind to it.”

“Hey!”

The expression on Croix’s face as she looks at her is… fond. There’s no other word that could describe it better. The affection is so blatant and bare and unrestricted by her usual impassiveness, Chariot nearly feels compelled to look away. It's almost too overwhelming lately whenever Croix does or says anything to comfort her. The warmth of her gentle support fills her with powerful emotions, some of it confusing and foreign, and it makes her want to do bizarre things, like… like maybe hold her hand-

“Chariot.”

The voice cuts through her wayward thoughts and Chariot squeaks in response, her cheeks shooting up in temperature. Croix raises an eyebrow at that, but nonetheless continues.

“Hey, if anyone ever bothers you like that again, be sure to tell me, okay? I’m afraid of you feeling like you can’t say anything about this kind of thing, but I’ll be here to help if you need it. Alright?”

There’s a warm, comforting glow that spreads from the bottom of her heart to the rest of her body. She can’t help but giggle, bashfully at that.

“Aww, don’t worry about it. I know Croix will always come running to protect me.” She laughs harder when she sees her friend turn very red and start mumbling something incoherently, a habit she tended to slip into whenever embarrassed. 

“A-Anyways!” Croix exclaims, looking very angry at herself for her accidental stutter. “Chariot, don’t you have class with Finneran? It’s on the other side of the building. Or have you forgotten?”

That shuts up Chariot’s laughter in an instant. Her eyes stretch comically wide in horror.

“Oh, shoot you’re right! Argh, I was trying to avoid this! I really did try!”

Chariot reaches down and scoops up her bag from where she’d dropped it during her encounter with Isabella and company before beginning a familiar sprint down the hall towards her destination. She looks over her shoulder to call out a goodbye, but the sight of her friend in the middle of the corridor (smirking fondly of course) suddenly gives her pause. 

Croix was not, as some would say, a conventionally attractive girl, albeit Chariot thinks she would have no problems fulfilling that label if she’d ever bothered to set her mind to it. Her nest of lavender hair was always tangled and un-brushed, full of splitting ends. The glasses she wore were plain and thick-rimmed. And she almost always looked so inexplicably grumpy, even when not upset, and that tended to scare people off. Maybe, that was in fact what she wanted. 

But, Croix has always shown a different, softer, kinder side to Chariot, and the sight of her now stood in the hallway, hand on her waist and eyes half-lidded in amusement, brings out feelings that she’s been experiencing for the better part of the year by now. Feelings that grow stronger by the day, and honestly she has no idea what to do about them, but right now, looking at the target of her affections gazing back at her calmly in the warm glow of the noon sun, she feels a sudden urge to do something. Something very, very stupid.

Chariot stops abruptly mid-pace and turns around sharply on her heel, bounding back to her friend, who starts in confusion. 

“Chariot? What are you-”

She presses a kiss to Croix’s cheek, her heart flopping thunderously in her chest, before she can have any second thoughts about her actions. Her skin is very soft. And warm. And smooth. And she kind of wants to do it again, but this time her inhibitions manage to reel her back in.

“Thank you, Croix. For everything you do for me.”

And before Croix could have a chance to respond, Chariot spins around and resumes her dash to her destination. Her face feels like it’s on fire, and if she looked in a mirror, she’d probably find it to match her hair perfectly in colour. She probably should feel like she’s made a huge mistake, but instead there’s only an overwhelming, overpowering sensation of euphoria in her heart. It’s a struggle to resist the temptation to shriek her joy to the entire school, or to even stop herself from laughing aloud, but she allows herself a jump into the air and a vigorous fist pump of glee. It almost startles a nearby Professor Babcock into dropping her books, but she’s too busy giggling elatedly to herself to notice.

She’s on cloud nine, and Chariot du Nord doesn’t think she could ever come down from her lovestruck high.

That is, until she reaches class late and finds herself on the receiving end of her fourth harsh reprimand from Finneran for the day.

* * *

Croix doesn’t know when and how she made it to her next class. It seems as if only when faced with the thoroughly packed lecture hall that she’s able to snap herself back to reality.

She’s also late, but unlike Chariot, her almost perfect record of punctuality spares her any kind of a scolding from the professor. 

Mechanically, she makes her way to her seat and slides into the chair. One of her teammates pokes her lightly in the shoulder.

“Croix, are you okay? Your face is really red.”

She stares blankly into space for a few seconds before the question even registers. Stiffly, she manages a nod.

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Both roommates stare at her now in disbelief, having never known her to stutter. But before they can question her further, the professor resumes her lecture, and reluctantly they turn away from her to face the front of the room.

Normally, Croix’s focus has a fortitude of iron. No professor is too dull, no lecture too confusing. It’s a point of pride for her, as the school prodigy and everything. 

But of course, Chariot is, as always, able to do what no one else can. 

Maybe she’d just imagined what happened back there? It had happened so fast after all. Or wait, no, maybe it was because of Chariot’s French origins. Yeah. That was probably it. The French kissed each other on the cheek all the time. Heck, where Croix came from that was true too. Albeit typically only as a form of greeting. This wasn’t a greeting. No, it was the opposite. It was a farewell. And a gesture of gratitude? Maybe that was a French thing she didn’t know about. That wasn’t a stretch, was it? If a kiss meant hello, it could also mean goodbye? Why not? That made sense, right? Right?

Croix doesn’t write so much as a single useful note for the entire lecture. But by the end of it, she’s recovered enough that she’s at least no longer wandering about in a daze. 

However, when she begins to head to her next class, she’s reminded of something that instantly snaps her out of her dopamine rush and turns the corners of her mouth into a hard frown.

That’s right, she and Isabella were taking the same elective.

When Croix reaches the classroom, she pauses briefly at the door, glowering green eyes narrowed as they scanned the room. Her scowl deepens when they find their target, sitting neatly upright in her chair with her fingers folded delicately in front of her. The perfect image of a refined, respectable, upper-class young lady.

Well, Croix knew better.

Truthfully, the idea only hits her when she’s already halfway to her seat. But she realizes a number of things on the way there, such as she’ll conveniently have to pass by the little snot. That there were not yet that many people in the room yet. That she could retrieve and use her wand in less than a second if she needed to, and absolutely _no one_ would notice. 

The idea is suddenly very tempting. 

For a brief moment, Croix reconsiders. If someone did see her, well, that would be very bad for someone that held the title of the school’s most prodigious student. She’s not sure if even her own stellar reputation could save her from the potential fallout.

But then she remembers the sight of a downtrodden Chariot, hurt and scared and clinging to her for comfort, and her blood starts boiling all over again. 

She makes her decision.

To anyone who might have been glancing in her direction, it’d look as though Luna Nova’s resident genius was walking casually to her seat as she would any other day of the year.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Twenty minutes into Interpretations of Ancient Runic Language, Isella Braybrooke’s spare inkwell explodes from inside her bookbag and sprays a gallon of pitch black liquid upward into the air, soaking everyone within a ten meter radius. When called upon to explain herself by a furious (and thoroughly inked) Professor Finneran, she sputters through the murky gunk that she has no explanation for what just occurred and finds herself landed with detention for the next few days.

Between the utter humiliation of having to stand at the front of class with every inch of her uniform thoroughly soaked through and Finneran’s scalding comments about her actions bringing great shame to the name she carried, Isabella’s frantically wandering gaze strays into the portion of the room that remains entirely unaffected by the mysterious and inexplicable explosion of fluid.

A pair of emerald green eyes paralyze her. 

Of all the other students, whose reactions seem to vary between confused disbelief and pity, Croix Meridies is the odd one out. Instead, she stares with an unmatchable ferocity, a quiet, dangerous anger radiating from her unmoving, unsympathetic glare.

There’s an unmistakable message in those eyes. A threat, and a warning.

 _Try the shit you pulled today again, and I’ll show you that this is the_ tamest _I’m capable of. ___

____

Croix turns away, point having been made, and the sunlight falls upon her glasses to hide away her silently smouldering eyes. It somehow makes her look even more menacing.

____

Isabella Braybrooke gulps and takes the hint.

____

**Author's Note:**

> I went into this show expecting Dianakko to be my #1 OTP, but then Charoix came out of nowhere in the last few episodes and roundhouse kicked me into oblivion.


End file.
